


Start (all over again)

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>andimeantittosting asked: For the timestamp fic meme, could I request something for Quick Fix, after Rimmer gets his hardlight drive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start (all over again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Quick Fix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/343346) by [Lauren (notalwaysweak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren). 



> Red Dwarf characters do not belong to me and I am making no money off this work of fan fiction.

The first thing that Rimmer touches is him.

Lister is a little too busy planning to escape from the psychotic gestalt entity holding them prisoner and then getting knocked unconscious to consider all the possible implications of this, but later he has time. Granted, it’s about a week later, and it’s taken several clearly not accidental brushes of Rimmer’s hand against his shoulder or back while he’s sitting in the cockpit or at the table in the galley for him to realise that the touching is something that he needs to be thinking about on more than a ‘whoops, the hologram’s getting handsy’ sort of way.

He is, he realises without as much surprise as he might once have felt, the one thing that Rimmer _wants_ to touch.

Oh, Rimmer’s pretty pleased now that he can touch all the instruments and dials and buttons in the cockpit, and has spent time learning how to control his station now that he can put his hands on stuff physically instead of voice-activating things (or, more often than not, ordering Kryten to do things for him). And Lister’s caught him just running his hands over things like his blankets and the table and his not very well concealed diary, as if to reassure himself that he can touch things other than his own body.

But it keeps coming back to Lister. Lister’s back, and shoulders, and once or twice (three times, actually; he’s been counting) his hand. Leaning over from the co-pilot’s seat, where he likes to hold court when the Cat’s not around, and brushing his fingertips across the back of Lister’s hand, fast but intimate, like he’s imparting something vital to Lister by touching him.

Lister keeps thinking back to the first time they touched in anything approaching this way, and it’s not the same, it’s not that desperate needy clinging touch that got them off the psi-moon, it’s something altogether more sincere.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

 

Then they nearly die, and he’s suddenly quite sure how he feels.

‘I need to talk to ya.’ The hull’s still on fire, lava streaking the front windshield, but it has to be _now_.

Rimmer looks up, nods, and gets to his feet. It’s hard to reconcile this with the Rimmer of old, who would have said something rude and probably sent Lister outside to scrub the lava off with a toothbrush. Or his tongue.

‘Sirs...’ Kryten protests.

‘Not now, Kryte. Cat, you’re on steering. Try not to take us into any more death dives.’ Lister exits the cockpit and only realises halfway up the stairs to the bunkrooms that he’s grabbed Rimmer’s hand on the way.

Letting go seems silly at this juncture.

Rimmer raises a quizzical eyebrow when they’re safely in the bunkroom away from prying eyes. ‘Something on your mind, squire?’

‘Yeah. You.’

‘....what?’

Lister lifts their joined hands. ‘You keep touching me.’

‘Actually, m’laddo, you were the one who grabbed me.’

‘ _This_ time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. What’s goin’ on?’

Rimmer looks at their hands and looks away. ‘I...’

‘Spit it out.’

‘You’re warm.’

Lister blinks. This wasn’t exactly the response he was looking for. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re warm,’ Rimmer says patiently. ‘Everything else on this ship is cold. Well, maybe not the Cat, but he’s always so—’ He makes a gesture with his free hand that could mean _loud_ or _busy_ or _prone to bathing with his tongue_. ‘Sometimes you just sit there so still, staring out into space, that I feel like I have to make sure you’re still alive.’

‘You could just ask me.’

Rimmer moves his thumb over the back of Lister’s hand. ‘I’d rather reach out,’ he says quietly. ‘It means I know _I’m_ still here as well.’

This time, when Lister kisses him, Rimmer doesn’t react as though he’s starving. Instead, he sighs shakily and his hand tightens on Lister’s.

‘Do you think this could actually work?’ he says against Lister’s mouth.

‘You mean ‘cause we hate each other? I don’t see why not.’

Rimmer laughing genuine laughter instead of his defective seal bark is surprisingly nice to hear. ‘I want to try.’

Lister draws back enough to give him a wickedly innocent look. ‘What exactly were you plannin’ on tryin’?’

Rimmer’s answer, when it comes, is not in words.


End file.
